


let me lead you from your solitude

by crispytins



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Reveal, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, Season 5-ish, Slow Burn, also Elyan and Lancelot are back bc I Said So, definitely deviates from canon, it'll all be okay...probably, pretty soft at points, they're dumb and oblivious and i hate them, usual merlin/arthur banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispytins/pseuds/crispytins
Summary: "There's something about you, Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it."Arthur is sure of several things in his life.For one, Merlin is his best friend, his rock, and what's gotten him through the long, cruel years.But he isn't prepared, not even a little, to learn that his Merlin is also a liar.(Title from: Phantom of the Opera, All I Ask of You.)





	1. home again.

Arthur Pendragon was almost positive that there was something wrong with his servant.

No other person in the kingdom (except perhaps Guinevere) ever dared to challenge his word when it simply made no sense. No one else was willing to sit with him through cold, howling nights on perilous quests, tracing circles into the small of his back to keep him warm. There wasn’t another smile that could rival his, a warm, reassuring beauty that bloomed to rival only the sun.

Strange, Arthur would think to himself. Surely there’s been a mistake. I don’t deserve a servant with such a kind heart. Whatever is the _matter_ with that man.

The particular night in which Arthur was looping these thoughts was nearing the beginning of autumn. The summer sun’s hours winded down, and a festival was to be celebrated in his honor. In honor of the King of Camelot and his coronation a year earlier, as well as his birthday (not that Arthur seemed to particularly care).

Arthur had insisted on spending some time by himself on the eve of the feast. “Just need some fresh air before being locked in that feasting hall,” he’d said to Merlin, pulling on his cloak. "I'm just making a quick trip down to the outskirts of the lower town."

“But Sire, they’re expecting you in the next hour.”  
“I know, I know. I just...can’t stand to stick around here for longer than I’d like.” His eyes trailed down to his father’s seal, which was pinned to his shirt. A reminder to never let him forget.

 Right, Merlin thought. The anniversary of Uther’s death...of course he would still be mourning.

“I’ll come with you,” Merlin suggested, watching his friend wind a woolen scarf around his neck. It was dangerous to leave a man alone to wallow in his thoughts, to tread through depths in which he could lose himself. Especially Arthur. Arthur, with the kingdom to rule, a death wish on his head, and knots of sadness still bound tightly in his heart.

Arthur scoffed. “I’m leaving specifically for the sake of being alone. Two’s company, Merlin.”

His servant shook his head and patted down Arthur’s shoulders. “You might need someone to protect you. Morgana’s still out there, you know.” 

The king grinned. “Ah, yes. And what exactly are _you_ going to do to protect me?” he asked. His eyes were sparkling crescent moons, an iridescent blue that Merlin couldn’t quite find words to describe. Beautiful, like the light catching crystals, or a lake on a clear summer day. Those words didn’t suffice...nothing did. Not to Merlin.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, Arthur, I’m honestly offended. My combative skills are impeccable.”

“Yes, if your challenge was to attack a roast hen. Your voracious appetite disgusts me.”

“You’re certainly one to talk. But, if you’ll keep it a secret, I’ll tell you my plan.”

Very badly he punched the air, ignoring Arthur’s exasperated sigh. “I’ll beat them up, send them running into the forest! They’ll never know what hit them.” Bloody idiot looked so pleased with himself.

Arthur laughed, a gorgeous little thing that sent Merlin’s heart racing.

“Of course you will,” he replied. He smiled at Merlin warmly, shaking his head. “Who am I to deny you the pleasure of dying a fool?” Because in his mind, he knew what Merlin wanted to do, really.

Keep him company. Listen to the silence with him.

Prevent him from drifting away. Make sure no one else saw his sadness, the tangible nature from which it dwelled.

Arthur was perfectly okay with that.

Merlin fastened the clasps of Arthur’s cloak, ignoring the blush that tinted his ears red, silently glad that Arthur didn’t want to be alone anymore.

“Thanks. I’ve always wanted to die protecting your stupid arse.”

“Clotpole,” Arthur muttered.

“Dollop-head,” Merlin smiled.  

 

* * *

 

 The sentries didn’t bother asking where the king and his servant were headed to at such a late hour; it was plenty routine for them to come and go on a whim, the pair of them.

The sun dipped below the burning purple sky, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile. The lower town was virtually empty aside from the occasional maiden or rushing farmer, and the air smelled of roast pig and sweets. Merlin had made minor small talk about how lovely the weather was, and had, of course, babbled about whatever nonsense Gwaine always seemed to get into (something about a brothel and many bottles of ale), but it was pleasant white noise for Arthur. In the end, it was just enough to make him forget about his father. Just a little bit.

There were no nobles swarming him, asking him how he felt about life after his father’s passing. There was no Guinevere, worriedly watching him with those eyes that seemed to know everything going on inside his head.

It was just him and Merlin. And to be honest, he quite liked it this way.

The opening to the town appeared, and Arthur sank against the walls, settling into the grass next to Merlin. 

“It’s awfully quiet, isn’t it?” Merlin asked softly. Eyes raised upwards, he watched the stars begin to appear, admiring the little flecks of white and gold dotted across the treetops. 

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, nodding as if making a breakthrough. “That’s what tends to happen when no one is around. No chatter equals silence.”

“Interesting. I never would’ve guessed. You really are quite the genius, my lord.”

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur said, trying not to smile as Merlin’s gentle laughter rippled across the leaves.

It was odd; odd, in the fashion that he was so comfortable with Merlin now. Perhaps it was their time together in Essetir that had made things more amiable, when he had listened quietly to Merlin's praise of him, and how he had supported him through the battle. Maybe it was the space Arthur had requested and received, the long, winding nights without Guinevere that Merlin had occupied with his soft smile and distractions. 

Whatever it was, it made his resolve towards his servant that much more kind. Of course he still took jabs at him and teased him horribly. But at the end of the day, it was all in good fun.

It was like having a friend. No, no. Merlin was _definitely_ a friend. Really, that was all Arthur needed at times. 

And with that they sat still, listening to the jovial cheers echoing from inside the palace, lost in their own worlds, unbeknownst to what was happening in the other's head. 

 


	2. i know you're all cried out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [In the immortal, infamous words of Logan Paul: it's all fun and games until it isn't.]
> 
> Arthur needs Merlin, so Merlin helps. Maybe they got a little more than bargained for. Or, informally: this chapter made me a little sad. Spare happiness, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all, thank you guys so much for the reception for the first chapter, it really helped motivate me to work more on this work as a whole. This update was supposed to be, like, double the length to suit my outline, but I decided to further break up the fic into smaller chunks, and atm I think I'm looking to finish at 4 chapters. But anyways, yeah! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> (Also, the chapter titles all come from lyrics in Franki Valli's "Fallen Angel".)

Merlin stole a subtle glance at his king. 

There was a faintly bitter smile on Arthur’s face, which didn’t suit the rest of his handsome features that were bathed in silvery moonlight.

He wasn’t terribly surprised to see Arthur so pensive, his eyes so concentrated on the still ground that they watered. His King, still broken and not wanting anyone else to see. 

Guinevere was probably wondering where in the hell they’d gotten to, but no matter. Merlin would simply explain later. 

His friend needed him here, so here he would stay. 

“I don’t suppose we could return to the castle a bit earlier than planned?” Merlin asked. 

“Not a chance,” Arthur scoffed. “I can’t bear to be the star of my own custom-made pity party.” 

“I don’t think it could get any worse than it was last year,” Merlin offered, but the pang of anguish in Arthur’s face silenced his words. 

“You’d be surprised.”

“But look at all of the good you’ve brought Camelot since your father’s death. You’ve created a fair and just land as you’ve always wanted, and the kingdom is the most prosperous in the realms.” 

Arthur shook his head. “To some, I’m still struggling to live up to father’s expectations.” 

“What more could you possibly do?” Merlin asked in bewilderment. 

“I - I don’t know, it just isn’t enough!” Arthur exploded, ripping out a tuft of grass. In an instant, it became clear just how much he’d kept bottled up. “Some of them still treat me like a prince! How can I know that I’m upholding my duty as the king if members of my own court doubt me, if those in the past have betrayed me?” 

“You keep faith, just as you always have! And what of those doubters, then?” Merlin demanded angrily. 

“You’re a good king, Arthur. Uther is gone. _You’re_ here now, _you’re_ the ruler, and whatever you want goes.” 

Albion’s era was nearly within their grasp, and it broke Merlin’s heart that he was repeating this discussion with his liege again for what must’ve been the millionth time. Most of the time he was confident enough in his own abilities, but Uther’s death hung suspended in the air, the seeds of doubt already taking root in Arthur’s troubled mind. 

Perhaps Uther’s death had certainly been mourned by many; but ultimately, it had been the catalyst to bring forth the Camelot that the world was destined to see. It took all of his willpower to not whack Arthur upside the damned head and tell him so.

Merlin’s voice wavered. “There has never been another like you. You are wise, just, and a friend to your people. I’ll be damned if I hear one more person saying that you aren’t doing enough.” 

He paused, breaths heavy, and saw that Arthur was listening intently, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Isn’t this all that matters at the end of the means?” Merlin cried.  “Your achievements as both a king and a person are what will make a lasting mark in history! Your legacy was always meant to be more than remaining in Uther’s shadow!”

Arthur shook his head again, eyes fixed far across the treetops, someplace far away from Camelot. 

“Everything I’ve done...is it enough?” The king’s voice barely rose above a whisper, barely carrying over the lapping breeze. He was beginning to fold in, his halo of blonde hair tousled as autumn swept over it. And Merlin, by some manic instinct, took his hand, grasping it in his own. 

“You stupid prat. Look at me.” In astonishment, Arthur did. 

“Arthur,” Merlin stated firmly, “of course it’s more than enough. It always has been.”

“It’s not,” Arthur began weakly, but Merlin silenced him by gripping his hand tighter.

His words left as a low, stern rumble.  “You are the once and future king. Do you hear me? You are more than enough.” 

Solemnly his eyes held Arthur’s in a promise, the promise with no spoken words that Arthur knew well across their ten years.

_You’ve always been enough. And you always will be. Especially to me._

So Arthur didn’t protest, as much as he would’ve liked to. He nodded instead, slowly, watching the tension leave Merlin’s shoulders, how his breathing was mellowing out. Mumbling, the servant slackened against the wall beside him. 

“Hey,” Arthur breathed, “so much for relaxing, eh?” Dimly he heard Merlin’s tired laugh.

“It was nice while it lasted,” Merlin commented warily. 

“Sorry I had to ruin it.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Merlin squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You had to let your thoughts out sooner or later...it’s what normal people do.” 

“Normal people,” Arthur echoed faintly. He paused, looking intently at Merlin. 

“Honestly, Merlin, you’re not as normal as people would have you believe.” 

The manservant shot him an odd look. “Funny that you should say that.” 

“Indeed...sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I can trust,” Arthur whispered, then stupidly realized that he should’ve just kept that to himself when greeted with Merlin’s sad smile. _What sorrows are you bearing_? Arthur thought suddenly, unease sinking in his heart like a weight.  _You're hiding something._

But then Merlin leaned into his shoulder, muttered “I’m glad,” and all other thought was driven away. Silence stretched between them, warm like the lazy summer haze that rolled across the plains, with the trepidations of sunflowers breaking the soil and birds soaring upon their wings. 

Arthur now was hyper-aware of the grass against his legs, the stone against his back, and how Merlin’s fingers were still intertwined with his. 

He marveled at them for a while, at how startlingly pleasant they felt in his lap. 

He made no attempt to separate them, and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The minutes melted away, and an hour had been spent. Together they made their way back up into the lower town, listening to the crickets and the whistles of warblers in straw roofs. Merlin had relinquished his hand before they had risen, and Arthur found himself reluctant to have lost his touch.

For those long, yawning expanses of silence they’d shared, he had felt grounded with a hand in his own. 

 _But it would be stupid to ask for his hand,_ Arthur chastised himself internally. It’s not like Merlin would say yes; at least, he didn’t think so. 

So Arthur didn’t ask; instead, he opened his mouth and said, "Sometimes I wonder about your life in Ealdor." 

Merlin glanced at him, mildly bemused. “Why the sudden interest? All these years and you only ever cared for the bare minimum.” 

“I don’t know, I just feel like there’s so much about your life back in Ealdor that never got mentioned.” Arthur shrugged, continuing, “you serve me everyday here in Camelot, and I suspect that you know much more than I could ever bargain for...you really aren’t as dull as you look.” His eyes narrowed, as if Merlin was hiding an extravagant secret. 

Merlin merely shook his head in lamentation.

“So many holes in your belts,” he sighed. 

“So many stables that need mucking out,” Arthur retorted, mirroring his friend’s smile. 

Merlin looked up into the sky thoughtfully, crossing his arms as they walked. "It was a great deal quieter. Less chatter, only the sounds of old crones telling their children to help out more. Everyone knew everyone, like here in a way, but it was less bustling, more relaxing." Merlin hummed at the memories. "Personally, I thought it pleasant during my youth. But Camelot is where I really feel to be my home...there's just more that can be offered here."

"Surely it's all because of me," Arthur teased, to which Merlin gaped and socked his arm. "Ow - _Merlin_!" 

“I mean, if you _really_ want to know how adjusting here was like, then we could start off with how I found myself employed to the biggest arse in the five kingdoms - “ 

“ -  because you saved my life! - “ 

“ - and I regret it every single day!” 

“The stocks weren’t very kind to you,” Arthur giggled. 

“I mean...it was always _someone’s_  fault I got sent,” Merlin deadpanned, scowling as Arthur roared with laughter, no doubt remembering the children gleefully cheering as they pelted their produce at his poor, pathetic manservant. 

“And whose fault would you place that blame onto? Surely not your king?” And now Arthur was wearing that stupidly innocent grin that made his eyes sparkle, and no no _no_ , Merlin was _not_ thinking about his eyes right now, _not the time_ - 

“Hypothetically if said king was a supercilious _prat_ , I most certainly could.” 

“It’s truly a wonder I haven’t sacked you yet.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

“It’ll happen one of these days,” Arthur remarked, but his fond expression betrayed him. It always did. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin. Really, I am.” 

“Nice to see that company was appreciated after all, my Lord,” Merlin said as they stopped in front of the castle entrance, where two sentries stood at ease. He raked his unruly brown hair back with one hand, smiling easily. “It would’ve been no fun to see you a heap all evening.”

“I’m sure you would’ve sought some amusement out of it regardless.”

“Sire, I could _never..._ ”

“Your highness,” a sentry interjected from his helmet, bowing before Arthur, gesturing inside the castle walls, “your people await you.” The other sentry opened the doors, escorting Merlin and the king inside wordlessly.

Later, the sentries would tell Sir Leon in confidence that Arthur had been staring after Merlin with such droll longing that they’d wanted to vomit. 

‘It was revolting,’ the first one gagged. ‘I actually thought it was quite sweet,’ the other one said.

 

* * *

 A maid accosted Arthur immediately as the doors boomed shut, taking his cloak and scarf before nodding him and Merlin into the hall.

As expected, Guinevere rushed to greet them the moment they stepped in, still flushed from the chill outside. “So you’re okay then?” she asked Arthur hesitantly, watching his weary face break into a shy smile. “No ulterior reasons for being a bit late?”

“Of course not. I appreciate your concerns, but Merlin was just accompanying me for some errands.” 

“Errands,” Gwen repeated, blinking. “Everyone from the lower town is either in here right now or fast asleep.” 

“Errands indeed,” Merlin cut in quickly, nodding. “Needed to pick up some lumber for his fire tonight. You know how cranky Arthur gets when he gets cold.” He rolled his eyes for added effect, and Gwen fought terribly not to smile.

“Ah. I see,” she said, oblivious to Arthur’s swift kick to Merlin’s shin. “Well, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

“Yep, gets rather cold up there. Drafts and my windows and, well, that’s not important, is it?” He nodded over to the main table, suddenly aware of his appetite, and escorted Gwen away in hopes of finding some turkey legs (and to refrain from having to further explain his servant's awful excuse). 

Gwen threw a glance over her shoulder to Merlin, a question upon her lips: _he’s alright, isn’t he?_ He smiled. _Of course._

With amusement, Merlin watched his king pile a platter high with turkey, capon, and bread before being whisked off by Gwen to talk to Lancelot, who proudly displayed his engagement band that Gwen had the match to. 

They laughed, and from a distance, Merlin could see Arthur’s lips moving in congratulations. The two were positively gushing, looking every bit the happy couple as they shared a kiss, when Arthur looked over the sea of visitors to catch Merlin’s eye and shot him a brilliant smile. 

_‘Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person I can trust.’_

“Dammit,” Merlin seethed to himself, “I need a drink.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin: i have magic, arthur 
> 
> Arthur: you what?
> 
> Merlin: I SAID YOU LOOK PATHETIC, ARTHUR


	3. stay here with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets drunk (courtesy of Gwaine), the banquet happens, and Arthur is presented with a ridiculous notion by none other than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO LISTEN, I know this is surprisingly long, but it was a merry mix of immensely painful/enjoyable to write despite the several edits I had to undergo following this initial publishing. For what's coming later, consider this the "breather" chapter, haha. Cheers for Gwaine (and John Mayer, whose music was on loop whilst working on this.)

In Camelot, locals were more than comfortably aware of what to rely on in specific circumstances: where to find the best grains, the best wine, the highest quality fabric, the thickest cuts of pork and beef. Often, specific individuals served their own purposes, too.

If there was ever a need to drink, then there was no better man to turn to than Sir Gwaine. His ale tolerance was revered across the lands in a collective mixture of disgust and admiration, but it wasn’t what his closer friends sought in his sluggish state; when drunk, Gwaine was loose-tongued, more than usual, and was generally very pleasant to be around. He was, as Percival fancied calling it, a calming, honest drunk (contrary to the beliefs of tittering kitchen maids). 

So when Merlin approached him that night asking to share a flask of wine, Gwaine was more than willing to oblige. 

“My, my, Merlin,” he laughed, pouring a glass out for Merlin, “you must be in very low spirits indeed to come to yours truly.” 

Merlin only sighed and took the glass, taking a somber sip. It wasn't that he was upset, just...remarkably exhausted. Confused, emotionally. Conflicted.  “Maybe,” he said miserably. “But, well, I don’t mind hanging around you. We’re friends, remember?”

“How could I forget?” The knight affectionately clapped Merlin’s shoulder. “Now tell me what’s going on up _there_." He pressed his index finger against Merlin’s temple briefly. “I can only assume it’s something to do with Arthur.”

“Is it that obvious?” Merlin groaned, taking another sip of wine. Surely not _all_ of his problems concerned Arthur - only most of them, as he would try to explain to Gwaine, who merely grinned and refilled his friend’s glass. 

“It’s not exactly hard to guess. You hang around him night and day and are bound to his every command.” 

“Not that I’ve ever followed through with any of them,” Merlin replied. 

Gwaine swirled his wine with his wrist, shaking his head whilst doing so. “You make an effort, though, and I think that counts.” 

He started, “I’m worried about you, you know.” Music had begun to play somewhere behind them, but there was a rare seriousness in Gwaine’s eyes. “You seem much more tired these days, old friend. Would you be interested in talking about it?”

With a wary tilt of the head, Merlin tipped his hand up slightly, as if to make a point or argument, and then sluggishly put it down. “I would...rather not,” he mumbled, ducking his nose into his glass. “It’s complicated.” 

Between the rumors of Morgana quietly reassembling her forces and Arthur’s growing insistence for his person, there was little time to relax. Especially the Arthur bit; he really did consume most of Merlin’s time. Even more than before.  “Nothing interesting, I promise you.”  

“Try me,” Gwaine challenged, chewing on a crust of bread smothered with an unholy amount of cheese and sauces. “I’ve heard it all.” 

Merlin shot him a wry smile. “Not from me, you haven’t.” 

“All the more reason for you to enlighten me. But only if you’re comfortable with it.” 

There was a beat of silence, of Gwaine gnawing on his bread and Merlin sipping his wine, until Merlin whispered, “You must swear to never tell.”  Couldn’t hurt to speak of a _sort of_ problem. 

The knight leaned forward and placed his hand upon his chest. “You have my word.”  

Merlin sighed and took a deep breath. “Honestly,” he said in a lowered voice, “if you ask me, there’s been something off with Arthur.” 

“...More than usual?” Just the barest trace of a tease in his voice. 

Merlin offered a reluctant smile. “Just a bit. Sometimes it seems like he drifts into places where I can’t reach him. It happens really quickly. One moment he’ll be laughing and everything, the next a hollow shell.”  It was unnerving, to watch his confident counterpoint crumple, unease swallowing him whole until he remained a feeble shadow of himself. 

And it hurt. God, it hurt to not be able to reach Arthur, to tug him back down to earth and embrace his sorrows away. Thankfully it wasn’t a daily occurrence, but it happened enough to make it onto Merlin’s list of ‘things to be mildly-maybe-definitely concerned about.’

Merlin took a deep swig and set the glass down ruefully. “I just wish it was easier to get through to him. Make him see straight.” 

Gwaine regarded him for a moment, unblinking, before slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Listen, Merlin.” He forced Merlin to face him, and raising up a gloved hand, said roughly, “I’m going to tell you something. And you of all people should believe it.” 

“A-alright.” 

The knight buried his nose in his tankard, swallowed, and slammed it down. “You’re the _only_ one the princess listens to. If _I_ told him to get his head out of the clouds, he’d knock the bells outta me.” 

“I guess so,” Merlin muttered, messing with a frayed end of his sleeve.  

“I _know_ so,” Gwaine said matter-of-factly, voice thick. “He absolutely would, and you know it. But, I mean, if _you_ suggested such an idea to him - “ 

“ - I’d be cleaning out the armory for a month.” 

“ _No_. Well actually, _maybe_ you would. But you’re missing the point, which is that he might actually listen.” Gwaine grumbled. “He does that thing where he’ll draw in his eyebrows like an angry cow and peter on and on about what an idiot you are, and then he’ll do the bloody thing you ask of him.” 

And Merlin silently agreed that, indeed, this was often how things were. 

“But,” he observed, “it doesn’t always work.” 

“But, counterpoint, it works _enough_ to matter _._ The man’s got half a brain to trust you.” 

“Right,” Merlin smiled. But it was bitter. 

“He trusts you, Merlin. You’re a trusting man.” 

“Mm.”

"Take it from me. It's been years since I've met you two, and it's obvious how much he values you." 

Merlin said nothing. 

Gwaine arched an eyebrow, a smile curling at the end of his lip. “You seem skeptical. Surely you wouldn’t shun the words of your _best_ friend?” He reclined in his chair, face flushed and waves of hair askew over his face. Truly the pinnacle of wisdom. 

Merlin patted the knight's arm, the knot of unease loosening just slightly in his chest. At the end of the day, Gwaine wasn't one to sugarcoat things; there was always some surety of truth hidden under his words, which Merlin would always appreciate. “I suppose it would be a rather rude thing to do, yeah?” he inquired, smiling.  Magic prickled gently underneath his skin, but it was soon flushed away from the alcohol in his system. 

Gwaine positively beamed. “Absolutely!” With surprising ease, he pulled himself up, and then yanked on Merlin’s arm.  “Now come on, Leon said that there’s some new gossip with the stable hands, and Percy is _dying_ to hear about it.” 

\---

Arthur wasn’t one to be easily distracted. 

For the latter part of the time, it was _his_ careful charm and smile that captivated people, drawing them into his presence like fish to sailor's nets; that’s just the way things were. He was quite used to it, the way people would find themselves ensnared in his net. 

Tonight, it seemed, was the exception. Guinevere and Lancelot had retreated elsewhere, and the politicians _pounced_ when they saw him alone.

There was the usual barrage about politics and trading obligations that all flew messily into Arthur’s lap, along with the occasional comment about his father he smiled blithely at. He handled every menial comment in his cordial manner that kept the illusion of being, as he usually was, the attentive and fervently concerned king; but he wasn’t focused at the moment. Not really. 

Not when Merlin was a table away with his knights, wearing that soft, somewhat parted smile that seemed to have all of the universe’s answers in it as he listened intently to one of Elyan’s stories.

The others leaned in during what surely must’ve been the climax, and Arthur watched his servant’s face bloom into unrestrained laughter.

It was nice, Merlin’s smile. Something about it felt distinctly like home, a land that Arthur knew like the back of his hand. He could probably map it out in his sleep - the familiar curve of Merlin’s mouth, the crinkling seafoam eyes, the knit of his brow. The way he’d worry his lower lip if he held a scalding tease upon his tongue, or how his cheeks turned that pleasant shade of pink that made Arthur think of snapdragons in spring. 

It was hopelessly lovely, to say the least. Merlin’s smile...yes, it was a sight to behold. 

Many times, Arthur had thought to tell him.

Tell him that there was no one else who could take one look at him and know exactly what was on his mind the way Merlin could, to express his gratitude for his loyalty and enduring the years with him. 

Tell Merlin that seeing his small, secret smile that only Arthur got to see brought him a reassurance that nothing else could. 

But he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Arthur sighed and tore his gaze away, the feeling of Merlin’s hand in his still fresh in his mind. 

He’d tell his friend at some point. Or another. The occasion would arise, he was sure. 

\--

Later, Merlin wandered away from the knights, finding Arthur amongst politicians at a crowded table. As discussions went, this one sounded particularly unexciting (crop rotations, trading revisions, the like), and Arthur attempted to look compelled as they spoke. It was not working. 

Chuckling, Merlin caught his eye and waved. He tilted his head away from the crowd, and Arthur’s head snapped up, relief awash in his features. He turned to his chief advisor, then pointed to Merlin, no doubt concocting some bollocks excuse about urgent business with him and practically scrambled from the group. Within moments the monotone discussion was set back in motion. 

Arthur sighed in contentment when they were out of earshot, still in the presence of people, but a quieter lot. After all, it would seem suspicious for a king to leave his own celebration.

With a completely straight face, he deadpanned, "You're my savior." 

"I tell you all the time, and _now_ you're beginning to believe me?"

“I suppose you’re good for a few things after all,” Arthur teased. 

“Second time tonight, I reckon?” Merlin’s speech was slurred, certainly no thanks to the knights’ influence, and Arthur allowed himself a laugh. 

“Come now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” 

\-- 

When the guests began properly clear out of the hall, Merlin followed Arthur back to his chambers to fulfill any final evening duties. 

He nudged Arthur’s elbow, falling into step with him. “You know, it looked like you were alright on your own, able to get your own food and all without my help. Never thought I’d see the day.” 

Arthur scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. The drunken stupor seemed to be stimulating his attitude.  “I _do_ have functioning hands, you know.” 

“I _noticed_. Does this mean you can go fetch your own breakfast now, too?” 

“And breaks decades of tradition?” 

“Is that a yes?” 

The king rolled his eyes. “I’m still accustomed to certain standards, Merlin.” 

A self-satisfied smile creased Merlin’s lips. “Yes you are, _my_ standards. Good thing I’m here to keep you in check, otherwise your ego would explode on itself.” He leaned into Arthur’s side, a gesture that _should’ve_ earned a shove back, but didn’t; Arthur was accustomed to Merlin’s drunk nature, the mild touch he always seemed to crave after the drinks began to settle in. He found he didn’t mind it all that much.  

Arthur pushed his chamber doors open, casting an amused glance at Merlin, who was half-hanging onto his arm. “You know, the stables haven’t been mucked out yet this week...” he pointed out thoughtfully. 

“Really? Hmmm.” There was a pause. Then, “Your ego will only _partially_ explode on itself.” 

“Merlin!” Merlin released his grip, laughing as he made his way to the dresser. 

“Would you rather me be silent?” he called from the other side of the room, rifling through the neatly organized stacks before selecting Arthur’s sleeping pants. 

Arthur peeled off his breeches and replaced them for the sleeping pair, straightening up. “You know that would only annoy me more.”  

“Yes, I suppose it would.” 

Gently, Merlin tucked his fingers underneath the folds of Arthur’s shirt, finger pads brushing warm, scarred skin before fully pulling the shirt off.  

Arthur shivered. 

“You know, I do recall you saying that my prattle was one of my few redeemable qualities,” Merlin said, loading the dirty clothes into a pile to be picked up in the morning. 

“I suppose. You’re lucky you’re funny or you’d be out of a job,” Arthur jabbed back, the lingering touch not forgotten by his skin.

Merlin’s eyes lit up suddenly, oblivious to the blush on Arthur's face. “So you _do_ think I’m funny!”

Arthur pressed a hand to his temple and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “It’s been a tiring evening, _clearly_ it’s messing with my thinking right now…” 

“No, no, you can’t take it back,” Merlin sang smugly, blowing out the candle on the bedside, looking ridiculously pleased. If only he could transfer that enthusiasm into something useful like mending his garments or fetching breakfast on time, or really, _anything else_ that pertained to his job. 

Perhaps placing his hands back on Arthur wouldn’t be a terrible start. 

“I can, too,” Arthur groused, settling into bed and pulling up his covers. He shot his servant a proud look. “I’m the King of Camelot.” 

Merlin leveled an equally hard stare, hands on his hips. “And _I_ have to put up with you until the day I die.” 

“How unfortunate,” Arthur said fondly, before quickly adding, “for _you._ ” 

“Can’t believe you read my mind.” 

“Unless you should choose to quit?”  

Merlin laughed. “And leave someone else to deal with your antics? Never. I’d better go down as the most selfless man in history for my sacrifice.”

He cleared his throat, swaying in the doorway. “Will that be everything?”

Arthur studied him for a moment before answering, hesitant. 

“I think so, yes.” 

But just as Merlin’s hand went to shut the door, Arthur called, “Wait!” 

Merlin stopped.  

“Could you...come over here?”

Part of Merlin’s mind registered shyness in the king’s tone, though disbelievingly so. “Of course.” 

In the darkness, Arthur listened to soft, padded boots crossing the length of the room, and a familiar presence settle beside his bed.  

Merlin faced him, the window just over the bed casting a silvery halo across his head. “What now, my Lord?” 

“I, well…” Arthur felt his face burning into the pillow. 

Surely it wouldn’t be so terrible for him to request Merlin stay a while longer, perhaps a few more minutes, and allow himself to be lost in the warm, pleasant features of his manservant before drifting off to sleep. 

Surely not. 

Merlin’s gaze upon him bordered on worry.

_Muster some courage. Say the words. ‘Stay with me.’_

_Come on! Say them!_

No, _no_. This was just the wine and mead selfishly talking. 

Taking advantage of Merlin’s state... _no_. 

“I’m sorry, um. Could I just have a glass of water?” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, then made a drinking motion. _You coward._ “Feeling a bit, you know.”   
“Ah. Yes, of course.” Reaching for the pitcher and glass, Merlin yawned as the water trickled over the gilded lip, while Arthur watched his back and curve of his hips, the unruly curls that fell across his forehead in gentle waves. God. Arthur was a _coward_. 

The servant pressed his hand into Arthur’s back as he pulled him into a half-sitting position, handing him the glass and watching him drink. 

When done, Arthur made to place the goblet on the bed stand, but his arm bumped into Merlin’s, which was still wound awkwardly across his bare back. 

He cleared his throat. Merlin jumped, yanking his hand back. 

“Sorry,” Merlin murmured, gently removing the glass from his hands and placing it on the stand. 

The king‘s chest flipped, eyes following his flustered movement. “No, no. It’s quite alright.” There was a beat of silence, of Merlin resembling a fish out of water and Arthur smiling at him stupidly, until Merlin shook his head and made to walk away.

“Right, then.” Sobering up slightly, he cast one final glance at Arthur. Merlin opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then he decided otherwise. 

“Goodnight, my Lord.” 

“Goodnight, Merlin.” 

The door boomed shut, and the tempting warmth of Arthur's blankets promised rest and sweet dreams...but he could not sleep. As exhausted as it was, his mind continued to whir, continued to flip through the events of the evening, from staring up at the stars to Merlin's fingers against his skin. Arthur told himself to sleep. His body didn't listen. 

Hours passed. As the stars began to flicker out against the beginnings of dawn, an exceptionally absurd idea wormed its way past Arthur’s defenses, for an inebriated Arthur was a decidedly vulnerable one. The idea presented itself, boldly so. And Arthur laughed at it, tiredly, wearily, before screwing his eyes shut. His stomach twisted painfully in his chest, and there was a dull ache that thumped in his gut, but he thought nothing of it.

Because being in love with Merlin _definitely_ out of the question. 

\--  

Merlin didn’t see much of Arthur the next day. 

Leon’s morning patrol returned with news of a gathering of mercenaries and druids in the east, and whisperings of Morgana's influence grew. As such, Arthur had been summoned to the council chambers for the majority of the day, where he assisted in evaluating the scout reports and discussing future courses of action. 

After all, his memories of the siege from months before remained strong. The sting of Agravaine’s betrayal had hardly balmed in the passing months.

With no business stewing about a courtroom all day, Merlin spent his day buffing out boots, scrubbing out soup stains from clothes, and polishing armor, drifting into a state of silence that always accompanied his days without Arthur. As much as it pained him to admit it, he quite liked the constant rapport of Arthur’s voice throughout the day. 

It was odd to be stuck in a loop of productive motion without someone yapping away at his ear.

That evening, he went through the extra effort of making the chambers maybe (just _maybe_ ) more than passably clean. Merlin wasn’t sure why he’d done it; it’s not like he’d ever done it before. But if Arthur was going to be fretting about Morgana and have her running amok in his thoughts, the prat might as well retire in a state of peace.

When Arthur returned to his chambers, shirt ruffled and head whirling with remnants of a day in court, he found it immaculately clean, his dinner hot and ready on a platter, nightclothes neatly folded on his desk to change into. 

Arthur did a double-take. 

“Did,” and he stepped outside his chambers and called to one of the guards on duty, “did _Merlin_ do this?” 

The guard coughed. “As he was the only one in your chambers tonight, Sire, I can only assume so.” 

“Huh.” Arthur glanced around again, at the pressed clothes and dusted surfaces. It was certainly out of Merlin’s character to accomplish more than the bare minimum, but he wasn’t going to complain - not when he’d clearly put effort into something for once. "The man's full of surprises, isn't he," he muttered to himself. 

He shrugged off his tunic and replaced it for the softer blue one Merlin left out (for as winter approached, nights grew chillier) when he yelped. Something small dug into the small of his back, and after brief wrestling with the fabric, Arthur found a note stuck inside. 

In Merlin’s indiscernible scrawl, Arthur found himself smiling as he read: 

 _‘If you’re wondering, then yes, I did my job properly today. I know, I can hardly believe it myself. No doubt you're stunned, as usual - you’re very predictable to read, Arthur. Sleep well. - Merlin._ ’

“Sleep well,” Arthur repeated, his grin fully reaching his eyes. He knew Merlin couldn’t hear him, but he spoke into the empty room anyways. “You, too.” And once again, the persistent notion about Merlin from the night before presented itself to him.His heart betrayed him as it ricocheted in his chest. This time, Arthur wasn't so sure that 'no' was the correct answer. 

\--

Mornings came and went, and Merlin busied himself with his usual duties in each one: bustling about Arthur’s chambers and casting all the curtains aside, pooling together rolls of parchment, and humming a tavern tune under his breath.

Arthur noticed in them how the sun rays streaming through the room made Merlin's eyes shine like the open sea. 

He noticed the dimple that appeared below his lower lip when he laughed, the way Merlin's fingertips brushed his casually when dropping off the breakfast platter. Arthur noted how Merlin would mutter at thin air and rub the back of his neck when he got frustrated, the tired sigh he released just before the meal bell rang. There were other things the king could've occupied himself with, like council papers or reading or eating - anything else. 

Oddly, though, it seemed that Merlin was suddenly the only thing in his line of vision. Which wasn't a bad thing, now that he thought about it. Far from it. 

And with that observation in mind, Arthur smiled into his biscuits.

He was sure now of what his answer was.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur: hey guys, i've been thinking, merlin has a really nice smile huh  
> Arthur: and the most beautiful eyes i could drown in them  
> Arthur: haha he's such a good friend  
> Gwaine, whispering to Leon: who the fuck is gonna tell him


	4. i'll forgive you anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn is still slow. Merlin is sick. Arthur is worried. Oh, and there's a bit of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a seriously hot minute since I've updated this, and I'm so, so sorry. The end of July and August marked the beginning of me catching up with summer homework and workshops, and I only ever really got the time to work on small bite-size things. But, here we are! We're almost at the end, and I'm thankful to everyone who has waited and subscribed. Merlin's magic becomes more of a player in this chapter, and it will become increasingly more important as this fic (with its last two chapters) goes on. Taylor Swift, I love you for being what got me through this chapter...you are my savior.

Merlin doesn’t fancy daydreaming. A long time ago, it was something he could afford to do, a luxury that he didn’t know was temporary. 

Because that’s all it was now, really; nothing more than a distant memory. Daydreaming is for those with time to spare and innocent hearts, who don’t carry the weight of the universe upon their shoulders, or spilled blood that drenches through the skin and bones. 

Daydreaming is for dreamers. 

And Merlin is not a dreamer. 

So he doesn’t busy himself with what could be's and what should be's, because like anything else since he came to Camelot, he’s learned that destiny is not gentle. Merlin does what needs to be done in order to fulfill it, and he doesn’t wish for anything above his station.

When Arthur begins to approach him with a forward gentleness never displayed before, he thought nothing of it. Merlin could easily jump to assumptions that his intentions were romantic, as ridiculous as the sentiment sounded, but he didn't. 

Arthur being alive should be reward enough, Merlin chided to himself. 

Every day could be easily chalked up to remaining attached to the king's side, offering his words and his services, and feeling a cold knot of dread wound itself in his gut as Morgana's presence grew ever-present. Merlin knew better than anyone else that she daren't try and seize the palace herself - after the disaster with Agravaine, an attempt of siege would not be occurring anytime soon. But he could feel it sometime after fall began, the sickly tendrils of her magic that bled through the walls and the floors, despite her not being anywhere near Camelot.

There were days he felt it, strong and wicked like gale-force winds, and other days where it was like her magic wasn't there at all. It varied. The fact that he felt Morgana at all was more than mildly concerning...but it wasn't as if he would waltz into Arthur's chambers and say something about it. 

No, Merlin reminded himself with a grimace, that's how men like me die. 

There had been one particular day of training, where Morgana's magic had spilled across the grass and choked the clouds. Merlin could taste it, bitter and hot, upon his tongue, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he did his best to maintain proper balance, waiting for Arthur's word. 

He dimly heard metal screeching against metal and a loud cry from a new knight as he tumbled into the grass. Arthur, directly above him, wore a bright, triumphant smile and raised his sword proudly for Merlin to see. He stopped short upon seeing the worry knit into his servant's features, the way his hands wrung over his wrists, swaying a bit on his feet, like a drunken sailor lost at sea. Crossing the field quickly, Arthur let his shield fall into the grass, wrapping a hesitant hand around the length of Merlin's arm. 

"Are you alright?" His eyes searched Merlin’s. “You look rather unsteady.”  

Merlin rearranged his face quickly. "Everything is fine, my Lord." But the worry that clouded Merlin's eyes didn't fade, despite his weary attempt of a smile that Arthur saw right through. 

"Merlin." The clanging of swords upon wood sounded behind them, but Arthur didn't sway from his position in front of Merlin. _His face is white_ , Arthur noticed fearfully. 

"I'm fine," Merlin repeated. He pointed to Leon, who was waiting near the edge of the field and watching them both curiously. "You need to get back to your men." 

"I will, in a minute." Arthur gripped his arm tighter, tugging him away from the field. _You’re my first priority._ "Come on, let's get you inside." 

"Hey! But - " 

"No ‘buts’!" With a considerable amount of difficulty (since when had Merlin ever had _muscles_ ), Arthur pulled a grumbling Merlin up to Gaius's workshop, ignoring the stares of passing serving staff. 

In typical Merlin fashion, he kept on insisting that he was _fine_ , despite him breaking into several coughing fits during their slow ascent up several flights of stairs. This was plenty horrible on its own. 

And though Arthur didn’t comment on it, Merlin seemed terrified of something in the empty spaces of the halls. Amid his protests for Arthur to sod off, his wide eyes seemed to trail after something in thin air. But Arthur didn’t, _refused_ , to say anything because there was no reason to further set the man off.

That’s just the sort of thing you did when you loved someone, as Arthur was slowly finding out. 

"Please," Merlin managed, slumping against the wall, "it's just the allergies, the hay fever..." 

Arthur scoffed. “I’ve seen rabid animals that look better than you do right now. Quit your nonsense and ask Gaius about what’s going on.” 

“No. There’s _nothing_ wrong with me.” 

“That’s rich coming from the man whose voice sounds like it’s clawed itself out from the pits of hell.” 

Arthur rapped on the door three times, watching as it swung open to reveal Gaius. The old physician’s gaze flicked from Arthur to Merlin, who was leaning into the doorframe, and his eyes widened. 

“Merlin?” he gasped, taking the man by the arm, and pressing the back of his hand to Merlin’s forehead. “Good heavens, what have you done to yourself now?” 

“Nothing,” Merlin mumbled, shutting his eyes. “I didn’t do anything this time.” 

Gaius sighed, leading him through the threshold of the workshop. “Of course you didn’t. You never do.” 

With a question upon his tongue, he turned to Arthur again, who hadn’t realized that he’d been holding in an unsteady breath. 

“Sire?” 

Arthur unhinged his jaw. “He looked ghastly during practice, so I figured that I’d bring him here to get checked up.” He really wasn’t about to explain that the real reason he’d been so concerned was because Merlin was, to him, well...Merlin was...

He brushed the thought away. 

“Thank you, Arthur.” The crease in Gaius’s brow softened, stretching into something almost resembling a smile. 

“Of course, of course.”  Arthur glanced over Gaius’s shoulder, where Merlin sat upon one of the benches, rubbing at his temples with shaking hands. He knew that he ought to say something, something about how Merlin was going to be needed soon after to tend to him before dinner. 

But Merlin coughed again, the sound harsh and ugly in his ears, and Arthur couldn’t muster such a thoughtless request. 

Crossing his arms, Arthur heard himself say, quietly, “If he doesn’t improve by dusk, I will not be demanding of his services. George can assist me in his place tonight.” The physician bowed. 

“Of course, Sire.” He moved to shut the door. “I will update you about his condition later.” 

Arthur nodded and stepped away from the door. 

“I can still work, you prat,” Merlin’s weakened voice carried from the back of the room, and Arthur smiled at its sound, heart sputtering in his chest. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” he called with a little wave. 

An indignant cough. “Arthur, you get back h-!“ The door clicked shut, and from behind it, Arthur could hear a shuffling sound and a faint slamming of a door - Merlin’s, most likely. 

“Stubborn bastard,” Arthur muttered to himself. For a moment, he stood outside the door, listening to Merlin’s hushed voice. Minutes of futile strainings of the ear forced a reluctant Arthur to continue walking back down the stairs.

He tried, with no avail, to cleanse his mind of the pale, shaken Merlin that he had hauled up to Gaius. But fear so clearly etched in darkened shadows of the brow and in his face proved hard to be rid of.  

Even when he regained his stance on the field, mace in hand, the skipping patter of his heart didn’t cease, and his eyes trailed up to Merlin’s window enough times to reach his knights’ notice. 

Leon turned to them each, with a warning in the shake of his head.  

 _Quiet_ , he said silently.  _You needn't say a thing._

\-- 

Gaius couldn’t do much, at first, considering that the only things Merlin babbled the moment the door shut was “Morgana, she’s not, Morgana, but _magic_ ,” and that wasn’t much work with. 

He settled beside Merlin on the bench, placing a firm hand into Merlin’s back. “Merlin,” Gaius commanded, drawing an inhale, “breathe in.” 

“Gaius, she’s-” 

“Breathe in,” the physician repeated, steel in his tone. With shuddering breaths, Merlin breathed in, held it, and then released it. He did it a dozen times over until his face returned its color and his coughing mostly subsided. 

Gaius assessed him for any more visible injuries, but other than the usual grass stains on his trousers and the mad glint in his eyes, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him. Granted, the young warlock looked shaken and vaguely ashen, but that was to be expected. Gaius placed his hands in his lap, gesturing for Merlin to speak.

“Oh.” Merlin blinked. “You want me to talk now, or - ?” 

“I would prefer to hear what happened sooner rather than later, Merlin.” 

Gaius wasn’t all that pleased in the least to hear anything about Morgana, as noted in his shaking sighs, exhausted shakes of the head. 

“But what you mean she’s not in Camelot?” he asked eventually. “If her magic was here, then surely she was also here to control it.” 

Merlin bounced his leg under the table, head resting in his hands. “When there’s magic in Camelot, I can sense it. It’s a natural attunement, and I can recognize where the wielders are. Together, magic and wielder are solid. But this time, it’s like her magic is...independent. It feels transparent without the bearer.” 

Because, well, magic always had a _source_ . It didn’t conjure itself from _nothingness_ ; it required someone to channel itself through, an entity or object to possess. Merlin had felt Morgana’s magic enough times to know its taste, the feel, the way it dug needles into his skin. But it ran rampant now, on its own accord, and she was nowhere near their borders. 

“It’s like she’s sent it here to probe about.” And this tidbit of information was, of course, the sort of thing that Gaius explained wasn’t supposed to be possible. Because of _course_ it wasn’t. Just Merlin’s luck. 

“Without her,” Merlin began hesitantly, “the magic should be weaker, right?” 

Gaius stared at him. “Arthur dragged your broken body up here not an hour’s time ago, and you looked like death itself. I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that, if it’s really Morgana’s magic, it’s powerful enough to sustain its strength despite her being far away.” 

Oh god. The memory of Arthur's arms curled around his waist came rushing back, and Merlin did everything in his power to not burn an incriminatory red. “Fantastic,” he grumbled. “Just great.” He picked at the wood paneling on the table, pensive. “And I suppose it’s up to me to stop Morgana. Again.” 

Gaius nodded, casting his gaze downward. “And you’d do well to be careful in doing so.” 

“Oh, Gaius. You know me.” Merlin flashed him a grin. “I’m always careful.” 

The physician’s eyes closed, and it was his turn to press his fingers into his temples. “Please don’t joke with me, Merlin.” 

“Right. Sorry.” The warlock wheezed, coughing again. “Do you think I’ll be better by this evening?” Merlin didn't much mind tending to Arthur in the evenings, selfishly keeping the sleepy, languidly spoken Arthur he had grown fond of to himself. Moreso, he couldn't stand the idea of lying idle and not doing anything with himself. 

Gaius shook his head and leveled a stern stare. 

"Morgana's magic has yet to leave your system. I know you weren't exposed to much of it, but even a small dosage seems to be taking a toll on you. Your powers should be able to quell it over the course of the next few days."

Merlin suppressed a groan.  _Days?_  

"Gaius, but Arthur..." 

"Will have George." 

"But what if Arthur needs _me_?" 

"Merlin." 

“Fine. Fine, I’ll stay here, then.” 

\--

Arthur wasn’t moping because Merlin was gone. He was _not_ moping because Merlin was gone. 

“Sure,” Lancelot said coyly, leaning against the back wall of the armory. Gods, had Arthur really said that out loud? 

“Listen, Arthur, I’m sure he’s fine.” 

“Gaius hasn’t said anything about him yet,” Arthur ground out, ripping off his gloves. “The evening’s almost here, and still no word.” 

“Relax, Arthur,” Elyan said from his spot near the window, where he was trading parts of his cold chicken lunch for biscuits from Percival. “Merlin’s a strong guy. He’s probably fine.” 

“Probably.” Probably wasn’t an absolute word; it merely suggested that there was a good chance. But it wasn’t like ‘he IS fine’, it was ‘he’s probably fine’, which was only a hope. 

A hope that, an erratic Arthur realized morosely, was what would get him through the night. 

“Sire,” Leon interposed quietly, “Gaius is taking good care of him right now. You can check on him later.” He shot the king a small smile, and some of the nausea in Arthur’s system fled. "And, well, Merlin has faced far worse." 

Arthur pursed his lips. "Maybe so." There was a chance. He wasn't sure anymore - Arthur certainly hoped that the knights were right. Merlin getting hurt was nothing new, but that did little to make his anxieties lessen. 

After removing his armor and placing his sword away, Arthur found himself in his chambers. Merlin was not inside - instead, there was George. 

"Sire," George said graciously, bowing Arthur inside with his impeccably good posture. 

Arthur slid on a weak smile. "Ah. I see. George...you heard from Gaius, then."

"Yes, Sire." George flitted about Arthur, giving him a small stack of clean clothes to change into before dinner, and wearing a thin frown. "I was informed that your regular manservant would not be able to attend to his duties tonight." 

"Merlin," Arthur said defensively. "His name is Merlin."

George nodded stiffly. "Yes. Merlin." The next hour went by in a blur, with George doing everything that Merlin should've been doing; drawing him a bath, combing his hair, helping him into his evening garb. A routine that had been Merlin's for a decade was now being done, admittedly, very well, by George, but it irked Arthur more than he cared to admit. 

He'd gotten used to Merlin teasing him about his unruly locks before pulling the comb gently through his hair, gossiping as he pulled the tunic across Arthur's head and filling his head with nonsensical nothings as they walked down to the dining hall together. 

George, Arthur found, wasn't much of the teasing type. Or the joking type. The man didn't have a funny bone in his body, as the extent of his jokes were about brass and various metals, and Arthur didn’t even try to entertain them; Merlin would _never_ make jokes about brass. So, it could be sufficient to say that the Pendragon was quite glad to see George leave by the end of the evening. 

At the very least, he had hoped to hear from Gaius before night fell. But when he knocked on the physician's door, Gaius peeked through a crack in the slat and said hastily that Merlin was still unwell with an airborne infection. 

"I'm sorry, Sire, but he's still under my care." 

"Right," Arthur said, masking the sadness in his tone as casual acceptance. "Well, I'll expect him in the morning, if he's up to it."

"Only time will tell. I’ll be sure to tell him that you visited.” 

“Oh.” Arthur shuffled his bare feet against the floor, suddenly feeling very small. “So I can’t see him?” 

Gaius shook his head. “He could be contagious.” Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort sounded from behind him, but Arthur dismissed it upon seeing the grave look in Gaius’ face.

“Better that we wait till the morning and see how my...medication has fared with him.” 

“Just do what you need to do, Gaius.” 

“I’m doing everything that I can, my Lord.” 

“I know you are.” Arthur held the bridge of his nose for a few seconds, softly shaking his head, before turning on his heel. Dimly he heard Gaius bid him goodnight. 

Moonbeams cast long, lingering shadows across the tapestry-filled walls, looming shapes that Arthur hardly noticed as he numbly retreated to his room. He fell into a fitful sleep, with someone’s name on his lips, a whisper of Merlin's name upon his mouth until dawn broke. 

George saw to him the following morning. If he heard Arthur murmuring for his manservant, he gave no indication of ever hearing so, and instead offered him his breakfast platter in bed. 

Arthur took it half-heartedly.  

"Thanks," he said ruefully. 

George smiled thinly again. "Of course." 

 

\--

Three mornings went by with George’s face framing the sunlight that filtered through Arthur’s windows. 

Three mornings came where Arthur’s heart sank to the bottom of his chest and settled there, resting above his gnawing gut. 

Gaius’s reports were the same. 

Arthur went through his days listlessly.

\--

The morning Merlin appeared over him, wearing his wide grin and with his dark curls falling over his lashes, Arthur scrambled out of his sheets and pulled him into his chest, pulling them both haphazardously into his blankets. 

“Oh! Arthur…!” 

“Idiot,” Arthur murmured into his jacket, holding him fiercely close, taking in the warmth of his body, the feel of that stupid, _stupid_ scarf brushing his cheek. “Don’t ever leave me like that again.” 

Merlin huffed, valiantly attempting not to laugh. “It was only a few days, you prat.” 

“Felt like forever.” 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’ve missed me.” 

And Arthur’s heart was clawing its way into his throat, the cavity in his chest swelling over like a river after a storm.

“Of course not,” Arthur said roughly, releasing him, but wearing a smile all the same. The edges of it reached his eyes for the first time in days, and he cleared his throat. 

“Just missed your prattle.” 

"Mm hmm." 

"You look much better." 

"That I am, Sire." 

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "I'm glad." 

His servant had the audacity to giggle. "Sure." 

 _I missed you,_ Arthur wanted to say.

Merlin studied him for a moment, the happiness so clearly evident in every facial feature, and he grinned again, that impish one that Arthur cherished the most. 

“Well, here I am. Gaius said that you wouldn’t leave him alone about me coming back to work, and so, well, here I am.” 

 _Here you are,_ Arthur thought happily. If Merlin thought he had been missed for sorely service reasons, then so be it.

On the outside, he nodded, mockingly businesslike before standing up to ruffle Merlin’s hair and laughing at his squawk of protest. 

But on the inside, he felt a euphoric thrum in his ears.

 _Merlin is back_. And honestly, just the mere thought of his servant shouldn’t have made his smile wider, goofier like a lovestruck princess at a ball. 

But it did.

And he thought that Merlin wouldn’t notice, notice the way he’d been treating him lately, with the reverence of a lover, the gentle touch that he saved just for Merlin. 

He didn’t think he’d notice, so he continued. Because it was a granted that Merlin didn’t notice anything. 

But. Well. 

Merlin folded his sheets as Arthur disappeared behind the changing sheet, and squeezed his eyes shut. 

He could feel his cheeks flushing from Arthur’s hug, from the way Arthur’s face had lit up the moment he saw Merlin. 

Gaius said that the king hadn’t smiled in days, and any attempts to coax it from its shell had ended miserably. Merlin had dared to hope that it was because of him...just him, just Merlin, the man who did _not_ dream above his station.

Just this once, though, Merlin allowed himself to dream. 

Just one dream couldn't hurt.

Even though it made his heart ache and the magic underneath his skin prickle painfully, he allowed himself one singular dream. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur: wanna love u  
> Merlin: what did u say  
> Arthur: wanna SHOVE* you haha  
> Lancelot: what the fuck


End file.
